Every Me, Every You
by Mlle. Elise
Summary: Betrayed and broke, Sookie is approached by Eric in the worst possible time with a new mission. After she reluctantly accepts, they enter the opulent, intriguing world of Paris to uncover a thief in the highest vampire ranks.
1. Goodbye Halcyon Days

**A/N: **I wasn't sure which category to place this story in as it contains elements found in both the Sookie Stackhouse books _and _True Blood so this fic contains spoilers in the sixth book and some events that occurred in the television series. For style reasons, I chose to portray the character Eric Northman as he appears in True Blood so I apologize if I offend any die-hard, literary fans out there. Feel free to give out constructive criticism, advice, or whatever you feel like at the moment.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Southern Vampire Mysteries or True Blood.

**Warnings: **Language, possible lemons, and violence

* * *

_September 2007_

_Château de Chenonceau_

_Vallée de la Loire, France _

_

* * *

  
_

"_Arrêtez! __Arrêtez!" _Someone was screaming as bullets ricocheted throughout the grand hall.

The sound popped into my ears as if a dozen firecrackers were going off at once. I could hear people moving, their boots stomping and squeaking against the marble floor as they ran in pursuit. A hand pressed my face into a wool coat so hard that I could feel the buttons' shapes against my skin. Something brushed the top of my forehead…what was it…hair? Yes, long blond hair.

"Don't move!" Someone hissed.

"Eric?" I recognized the voice.

He didn't answer. Instead, he bent over to shield my body. Several times, I heard him grunt in pain then felt his chest contract. It wasn't long before blood seeped through the coat and soon, my own cheeks were wet with it. The smell of copper and smoke was overwhelming.

But the distraction was only momentary as a horrible, ripping pain erupted along my back like the spine had been set on fire. A metallic-tasting fluid flooded my mouth and I was drowning, not just in my own blood but in the noise and the heavy air around me.

The footsteps were fading fast but now a new set of voices appeared, one young and the other gruff, both of them talking in urgent French.

"_Lâchez-la!" _

"_Si tu la touche, je te tuerai." _Eric rasped, clutching me tighter to him. My eyes rolled backward as the pain rose to an excruciating high. I didn't even feel my hands sliding off Eric's coat nor did I realize that I lay in his arms like a rag doll.

"_Cette femme doit aller l'hôpital, monsieur!" _A man rapidly spoke, his voice made breathless by worry.

"Goddamn it Eric, what the hell are you doing?" Someone else, someone I knew but couldn't quite name, was bellowing. He was close or maybe he was far away and his voice was being carried by the acoustics of the hall.

"She's…dead…either way." Eric spat, blood dribbling from his mouth. "It's too late."

"What are you talking about?" The same voice shouted above the din.

"I thought you already knew." Even when he was wounded, Eric could still find a way to be sarcastic. "What can I expect? She didn't have any reason to tell you anyway. But it doesn't matter now. If I get her to a hospital, they can stop her bleeding but how long do you think she'll live for? An hour? Maybe a few minutes? You really think it'll be worth it?"

"Eric, whatever problem you have with me, we can settle it later but right now _is not _the time!"

"Bill_."_ I whispered, finally figuring out who it was.

"Sookie _cannot _die." I heard him say in what sounded like an undisputed fact.

"_C'est une urgence tu connard! __Lâche-la! __Maintenant! Ou elle sera morte!"_ A medic cursed at Eric in frustration.

"Give her to them NOW!"

I didn't have to see in order to know what was happening. There I was, locked to Eric, covered in my blood and his. Bill was just a few feet away and the medics were stuck where they were, unable to go forward or backward. Not with Bill ordering them to not leave and Eric gnashing at them to back off. The _police nationale _were still running about the chateau, chasing down the last of the vampire guards and searching every hidden panel and trapdoor in this place that had been my prison.

I vaguely wondered what was going to happen to my jailers. Their faces flickered in my mind like distorted film then blurred with images of people I knew. Beautiful, ordinary, familiar, unfamiliar. Feodore's grey-blue eyes were seared onto my brain, pulling me into her vast ocean of thoughts and memories. Marie's laughter rang in my ears and I could see Sam's tanned face within my reach. A ripple went through my palms as I recalled the feel of Tara's thick and dark braids under my hands.

Tara.

I hoped she could forgive me for not letting her know. She must've had an idea when she and Sam took me to the airport. When we broke away from our hug, her eyes were like two warnings. Sam was also grim and when he pecked my cheek, his heart wasn't it. Sunlight filtering from the airport windows whitened his hair and made him look like someone flashed a lightbulb right on his skin. When I turned away to walk to the boarding gate, I remember thinking of my brother and how happily he sent me off, glad that I was going to see the famous city of love.

"Hey, tell me what their French fries are like over there!" He had said when he bid me goodbye.

Oh Jason…my poor, sweet fool of a brother. All I could hope for was that he took care of himself. Of course if he ended up in a real mess, the likelihood of which was extremely high, I knew I could count on Sam or Tara to look out for him.

I breathed deep, trying to savor the last bit of cologne on Eric's jacket. Bergamot. Neroli. Rock rose. The fading notes tingled my nose, carrying me back to the bed in my old hotel room and tangling me in its sheets. Blindly, I reached for Eric's hand but only managed to brush my fingertips against his knuckles. I wasn't sure if he even felt me touch him.

Suddenly our bodies shifted in one violent, swift motion. I felt myself hit against Eric and him grabbing onto my clothes, my shoulders. Anything to keep me from slipping out of his hold. My slippers fell off my feet and somehow Bill's and the medics' shouting had gone faint. Eric had moved us but to where, I wasn't sure. I knew we were still in the hall because I felt my toes graze the same, marble floor that I had fallen on when Feodore stabbed me.

None too gently, I felt Eric's hand clutch my neck and lift it towards him.

"Don't worry." His lips were on my ear. "I'm not going to turn you. I'm not going to let Bill do that either."

"Where—is—he—?" I choked out.

"Why? Do you want me to get rid of him?"

If I had the strength, I would've laughed. Instead I tried to shake my head. No, that wasn't what I wanted.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't mind if that is the last thing I do before dying."

"Not—funny—Eric."

There was a long pause. In that interval of silence, I heard a rustle of clothes then felt a cold hand cup the left side of my face. The thumb brushed along my cheek and curved along the arch of my brow.

"I can heal you, if you want." Eric said, lowering his voice so the others wouldn't hear.

I gasped, unable to answer. Blood escaped from my mouth and ran along my jaw. It dripped onto my collarbone and glided against my skin before making a final descent on Eric's hands. They tightened over my neck, digging into my hair scalp as Eric pulled me close.

"I know you want to die a human." I heard him urgently whisper. "But if this is too much, I can take it away. I can save you. Say yes and I can make this stop. All of it."

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. Of _course_ it was too much. I was in unspeakable pain and bleeding out on the ground. And as a human whose basic instinct was to survive, I would've been stupid to not even consider. Eric was offering me a way out but not life. Not life.

"Sookie?"

"_Lerrac! C'est moi, Donnay! Nous avons un problème._" There was a click then the sound of hollow static. It was one of the medics, talking into his radio. My French had never been good but I understood it better than I spoke it. The medic was telling Lerrac, his superior, that he and his partner couldn't reach me. That I was badly hurt but a vampire wouldn't let anyone come near. He needed backup, the medic said.

"Tell me now if you want to live or not."

I tried to shake my head then managed to blurb out: "_Eyes_."

I felt Eric fumbling around as he attempted to free his hand. Finally, I heard a soft click and a crunch as his fangs snapped into his wrist in an attempt to open up a wound. I blinked rapidly as something cold and viscous as maple syrup dripped onto my eyes. Slowly but surely, my sight returned and the first thing I saw was Eric's bleeding wrist hovering over me. Beyond that, there was the painted ceiling of centuries-old angels flying through colored skies and sketched clouds. If they really were this good-looking in heaven, dying wouldn't be so bad. At least I'd be surrounded by winged hotties.

Then, finally, I could see Eric. Or so I thought.

His normally handsome face had become grotesque since I fell. His hair was nothing short of a complete mess and his eyes had clouded over, making him look deranged. It didn't help that his fangs were out as well. I tried to swivel my head to get a glimpse of Bill but Eric forced me to stay still.

"I can save you." He lied through his teeth.

_No you can't, _I wanted to say. An old tightness resurfaced in my chest. Just as I thought, he didn't get it. But there was no time in trying to make him understand. It had taken me nearly a year but I was ready to let go. I couldn't take it anymore, this tug of war between hating and forgiving. It was time to let one side win.

"Forgive."

"What?"

"…forgive…him…I…_" _

"What? What is she saying?" Bill asked, sounding frantic.

Was I strong enough? I reached for Eric's face, this inhuman mask that erased any semblance of the vampire I knew. My hand shook as it rose and halfway, it collapsed, until Eric caught it by the wrist and brought it towards his cheek. Fingers curled, palm closed.

This was it.

A coldness cascaded across my body as if someone had draped silk over me. My face lifted up, admiring the angels one last time. Their luminescent hands were outstretched, reaching for each other, for God, for heaven, for me.

"_Sookie._"

Until that, I didn't think it was possible for anyone to wrap so many emotions around a word. I guess it was never too late to be proven wrong. In my name, Eric had revealed everything. He didn't have to plead for me to not go, whisper that he'd miss me_, _or even kiss me. This was enough. More than enough.

"Thank you._" _I whispered for his perfect ears alone, to hear.

_For everything. _

* * *

_There's something you should know about your precious 'Bill'..._

_...what are you talking about..._

_Ask him. _

_..the queen knew about you and your ability from your cousin Hadley...she knew I was from the same area and ordered me to find you..._

_...stop..._

_To befriend you...._

_...stop it..._

_To study you..._

_...no..._

_To seduce you._

_

* * *

_

_June 2007_

_Bon Temps, Louisiana_

* * *

Whoever made up the quote "the truth will set you free" should've added: _and it will screw you over ten-fold. _

The day I found out Bill, my undead boyfriend of a year, had been nothing but a liar was one of the worst experiences of my life. The icing on the cake was probably when he admitted that he had come to Bon Temps, my home, to help his superior monopolize my abilities for her gain. Was I heartbroken? Absolutely. Pissed off? Oh, you bet' cha. Humiliated? Down to the core.

The truth did set me free but it left a gaping hole that I never did quite fill up.

Being able to hear people's thoughts isn't a rewarding gift. Not only did my entire town think I was mentally disturbed but it got me into trouble with things you wouldn't dream of. Vampires, shape-shifters, werewolves, maenads…you see where I'm going with this? It was an ability that opened me up to a magical world yet brought me a lot of misery too.

I'm sure you can't decide whether I'm crazy, stupid, or both.

If I had the right to ask you to think differently, which I don't but I'll ask anyway, I hope you can understand. The decisions I made in the last year of my life were complicated and strange. Hell, they didn't even make sense to the people who knew me best. When I died, a lot of questions were unanswered. A lot of feelings were left unsaid and all that uncertainty lingered like smoke from a blown candle.

I suppose you're wondering how, when, and why I died. I can't tell you the last part because I don't know myself but boy do I wish I had an answer. What I _can_ tell you is that death is blind. It doesn't care how old you are, what point you are in life, whether you're a good or a bad person. It will snuff you out without warning or regret.

In my case, I was given a two-weeks notice, so to speak.

It was mid June. I remember it being so hot that I wore nothing but a sundress and panties. I can still smell the leathery air that filtered through the vents when I cranked up the AC. The seatbelt stuck to my collarbone like tape as I leaned back into the driver's seat and drove down Highway 81. A few weeks before, I started having these terrible stomach pains. At first, I thought I was having cramps but it was sharper than what I usually got at that time of the month. Tums and Pepto Bismol were useless. Midol was crap and the antacids that the clueless doctor in Monroe Clinic gave me didn't do shit.

After a few more visits, and when I mean "visits" you should imagine me bugging the daylights out of the doctor, he referred me to St. Joseph's Hospital in Shreveport, saying my case was beyond his expertise.

Now I may not have had a college degree but I sure wasn't stupid. When a doctor sends you away to somebody else, it means something's wrong.

The man I was sent to was Dr. Robert Bloomsbury, a man who distinguished himself as an "oncologist" whatever that meant.

I remember sitting in this big leather chair, staring across the doctor from his polished desk and wondering what was in store for me. It was hard to imagine something so serious could come from a man who looked like Santa Claus' twin. He even had a snowy white beard and these eyes that twinkled behind his gold-rimmed glasses but when they came to regard me, I could see their natural spark dim.

_Poor girl…_A voice whispered across my mind. The pity in his thought chilled me.

"It's bad, isn't it?" I said. To my surprise, my voice sounded low and quiet which wasn't the way I usually talked.

I could see the doctor's lips thin into a tight line and at that moment, I knew. He stood up from his chair, walked over to mine, and sat down at my level like my daddy would do whenever I got in trouble.

He said I had what he called a stage IV melanoma. It had metastasized into my liver, my lymph nodes. The scans that the doctor in Monroe took indicated that I had these masses. When Dr. Bloomsbury showed me the films on his light monitor, he guided my eyes to the white specks that surrounded my organs. For a long time, I did nothing but stare at them as if they'd vanish if I looked at them hard enough.

"So…" I cleared my throat as it got tight. "So…how do we get rid of all this?" I tried smiling at him but somehow all the muscles in my face were frozen stiff. "I mean…don't cancer patients start chemotherapy and all? Or am I too late..." I stopped.

For a few moments, Dr. Bloomsbury would not look at me and when he finally did, all the light in his eyes was gone. His wrinkled hand reached out and touched my shoulder.

"Miss Stackhouse," he told me gently as he laid me low, "We most certainly can try chemotherapy but I'm afraid that at this stage of the cancer, particularly your case, it'll only stall. It won't make the cells disappear."

No hope in chemo? He might as well have thrown me into a bottomless pit.

My head started reeling so fast that I couldn't listen to what else Dr. Bloomsbury was saying to me. I was dying. Actually dying.

"Are you all right, Miss Stackhouse?" I heard.

Obviously not, I wanted to say, but instead I just shook my head and asked a question that I thought I'd never have to ask.

"How much time do I've got?"

"I can't give you an exact number, only an estimate." Dr. Bloomsbury said. "Most people with your condition usually have three to six months depending on course of treatment but it's very difficult to pinpoint an exact time."

"_Months?" _I repeated in disbelief. My god, he actually didn't think I'd make it past the year.

"It's just an estimate." Dr. Bloomsbury told me in what he thought was a reassuring tone.

By that point, I stopped listening. One by one, all my senses shut down like something inside me was switching them off. I don't remember how long I stayed in his office but Dr. Bloomsbury didn't bother to kick me out. He sat with me for a while, allowing me to absorb the silence and drift away in it. Once or twice, he thumbed through some pamphlets with me, explaining there were several medications I could take in conjunction with chemotherapy if I wanted to take that route. Interleukin, interferon, dacarbazaine, temozolomide....the list went on and on.

"You might have trouble eating which will trigger substantial weight loss. You may also experience some localized pain."

I could barely nod. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

"Do you have any questions, Miss Stackhouse?"

_She is so young, _Dr. Bloomsbury sighed in my head, _she's not supposed to have this…doesn't make any sense…then again, it doesn't matter does it? _

I sat up, unable to listen anymore.

"Miss Stackhouse—?"

I turned away and before I knew it, I was out the door and blew past the hallway like my feet were on fire. I didn't stop, even as I ran across the parking lot, until I shoved myself into the car, slamming the door behind me as I got in. I winced as my back grazed the leather seat which had grown scorching hot in my absence.

Not in the mood to drive or wanting to waste gas, I grabbed the window opener and jerked it forward only to find that it was stuck. I pushed the handle down harder and when that didn't work, I started rattling it and before I knew it, I was thrashing around in the car. I slapped my hands against the glass, leaving behind panicked white streaks, and when I realized nothing would give, I resorted to pounding my fists against the steering wheel.

There's no linear pathway to grief. It's a crazy, zigzag way that doesn't go smoothly into one stage after the other. I was not only struggling with denial but a thousand other emotions that swept through me like a fast current. And boy, was I furious.

I swore so badly that it would've taken more than soap and a Hail Mary to clean my mouth. I screamed. I cried. I prayed. I cursed. I crumpled up tissues and when those ran out, I wiped the snot and tears away with the back of my hand. Every once in a while, someone walking to their car would stare at me but I was too upset to even notice or care.

By the time I settled down, it was already dusk. The sky had mellowed into a hazy shade of indigo and half the cars in the parking lot had disappeared. It was just me, my Datsun, and a stupid lamppost.

What a shitty card life just dealt me. Somewhere in heaven, the angels were probably laughing their asses off. Was my life some kind of messed up game for God to play with?

"You are one _fucked up _person." I spat, wanting to challenge him to a fist fight. I was pretty damn sure Satan would help me too, considering he had a beef with the Big-Man-Upstairs himself.

Now, if this was A Walk To Remember (which it aint, so sorry to disappoint you), I would drive back home, find and reconcile with my undead boyfriend Bill then cry my eyes out against his shirt. Then he'd whisper sweet nothings in my ear, do all these romantic stunts, and then take me to a white chapel so we can be wed.

Yeah…right.

No, I didn't drive to Bon Temps straightaway and contacting Bill was the last thing on my mind. I sat in that car, letting my thoughts ricochet around my mind. Chemotherapy wasn't an option, Dr. Bloomsbury made that clear to me. Surgery? Impossible. Healing by prayer? Not by a long shot.

V.

_Yes, _I thought, sitting up straighter. For a few glorious minutes, I thought I found my miracle cure. If V could mend broken bones and erase bruises, why not cancer too? Hope swelled in me like a balloon and like a balloon, it popped once reality kicked in. It would take more than drink from the wrist to make this disease go away and V wasn't exactly the safest thing to take.

The only sure way to survive this, if I was going to take a dangerous route, was if I became a vampire.

This wasn't the first time I considered the idea but I had eventually decided it against because of Bill. There were a lot of things vampires did to survive, he explained to me, things that humans would find repulsive and evil beyond words.

_I know you, _he said to me, _you'll hate the dark and the sustenance you have to take. _

He had known before I did that I couldn't handle living forever. I hated him and myself for it, wondering how a two-faced liar knew me so well and yet I didn't know a lick about him.

Slowly, I looked up to see a faint reflection of myself in the front window. I gazed after myself, wondering if this would be the same face that I'd see by the end of the year. What I didn't know was that in a matter of months, my hair would lose its luster and body. My cheeks would yellow with jaundice and sink in as I started losing my appetite. My lips would be accustomed to an expression of grimace as the pain got worse.

I leaned back in the driver's seat, feeling an overwhelming desire to collapse into a puddle and evaporate into nothing. What I wanted was rest, a sense of continuity and peace. Now most people would say home is the place to be. Others say a beach or a nice, quiet park would do the trick.

For me…well…

* * *

"Girl, what you doin' here?" Lafayette eyed me in surprise as I walked into the back kitchen.

"I know, I know it's my day off…well…it _was._" I responded, tying an apron to my front. Sam was still having some trouble finding a third waitress so Arlene and I had to double duty until he found somebody. I kept a spare uniform in my car, that way I didn't waste time going back home to change when Sam needed me.

Lafayette shook his head in disapproval as he went back to the grill. When he flipped the patties over, the smell of seasoned meat and sizzling bell peppers hit me, making my mouth water. For all his eccentricities and flaws, Lafayette knew damn well how to cook a burger. He probably could've given Gran a run for her money if they had competed at the county fair.

"Everything okay, Sook? Heard Tara say you was sick."

"Oh it's fine." I lied with a casual wave of my hand. "It's nothing, really, but thanks for asking Lafayette."

"What'd the doc say?"

"He thinks it's stress." I rolled my eyes. "He told me I needed to relax and just gave me stronger antacids that's all."

"Well if them stomach pains come back, you let me know 'cause I got some stuff that could make it go away like you never had 'em."

"It's okay." I laughingly dismissed his offer. Tara had long ago warned me that every time Lafayette suggested he had "some stuff," I should walk away as fast as I could. "My stomach should be back normal anytime now." I patted my waist reassuringly.

"Good, 'cause I was afraid I lost my best taster—here, try this." Lafayette held out a golden corn fritter to my lips. Happily, I opened my mouth to let in a wonderful blend of salt, pepper, and sweet corn.

"Mmmm…" I gave Lafayette an approving nod.

"Yeah, you like that?" His face broke into a dazzling white smile.

"You changed the recipe." I remarked, smacking my lips to get the last bits.

"How?" Lafayette challenged.

I ran my tongue against the underside of my lower lip. "…you used buttermilk this time."

"Damn right you are." Lafayette said, looking pleased as punch. "See your taste buds know their stuff. Too bad Arlene can't taste for shit."

"Can I have another one?"

"For 5.95, you get a whole basket and a side with that." Lafayette recited from Merlotte's menu. I gave him a playful shove on the shoulder but not before he popped another fritter into my mouth and gave me a roguish wink.

"Sookie?"

I turned around to see Sam standing near the doorway, clutching a handful of white tickets in his hand. He was wearing his usual ensemble that day: a plaid shirt with the tails out and jeans, frayed at the hem. His dirty blond hair looked tousled which meant he had been running his fingers through it, a sure sign of stress.

"Forrie bwat wvanted foo wvork." I tried to explain with a full mouth.

"Uh huh…" Sam's brow rose in confusion. "Aren't you're supposed to be at that doctor's in Shreveport?"

I swallowed. "I know, I just got back."

"How'd it go?"

"Great." I nodded. "The doctor just said I needed to relax and gave me something a bit stronger, that's all."

"Good." Sam sighed in relief. "I was worried."

"No need to be." I grinned.

"You know, you can take the rest of the night off. I've already sent Tara home and Arlene and I got all the tables covered." He nodded to the tickets.

"Thanks Sam, but if you don't mind I just want to finish my shift tonight." I said. "This'll be the last day off you'll see me take." I added.

At that, Sam and Lafayette exchanged sidelong glances.

"What?" I blinked at them. "What's wrong?"

"Are you and Bill fightin' again?" Sam regarded me with doubtful eyes.

"What—_no_! No, we are not fighting and what d'you mean 'again'?"

"Just asking." Sam stepped back, clearly regretting he had even said anything.

"You know Sam, when I come in here, I come to work. Not because I had a fight with my ex, _whom I haven't spoken to in a while if you recall_."

"I know."

"Really? 'cause I sure as hell think you _don't_."

"Sookie, c'mon, I didn't mean it like that." Sam pleaded, throwing a helpless look at Lafayette, who wisely decided to concentrate on his corn fritters instead.

"For your information, Bill and I aren't fighting, seeing as how we're not together anymore." I snapped. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to wait some tables."

"But Arlene and I got 'em covered—"

With one quick step, I snatched the tickets out of Sam's hands. "I got it." I said, truly irritated now. Just as I whipped out of the kitchen, I heard Lafayette chasten Sam in a know-it-all voice: "You needa know when to shut up, Boss."

I spent the next hour shuffling trays from one table to another and catering to the customers. I played my part as the happy, dumb waitress and as I kept myself busy with orders, I almost forgot about my bad afternoon.

The key word here is almost.

He had already sat himself in a booth before I could get to him. Even if you kept your eye on them, vampires could still shock you with their speed and it wasn't something you could ever get used to. But I wasn't startled by how quick he had come from the door to the table. I was more surprised by the fact that he had come alone and here, to Merlotte's of all places.

"Eric."

"Sookie." He greeted without looking at me. His eyes were on the other patrons, who had grown considerably quiet and nervous as soon as they realized there was a vampire in their midst. I saw Arlene pause at the bar counter to get a good look at Eric then stiffen in fright when she recognized he wasn't human. Throwing a terrified glance in my direction, she hightailed to the kitchen. Probably to warn Sam and Lafayette, I supposed.

"What are you doing here?" I set down the tray I was holding.

"I'm amazed you humans can come into this place day after day, stuffing your faces with this sort of garbage." Eric said, eyeing the Merlotte's menu with great distaste.

I pursed my lips in annoyance. "It isn't garbage."

"Right. It's 'food.' " Eric repeated with a hint of scorn in his voice.

"What are you doing here?"

"Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

"Like I'd serve you."

Eric gave a faint snort. "I see you still have an attitude problem. It's a shame Bill isn't here to restrain you…I could've used his service."

"Well he's not here so you'll just have to deal with me." I replied through gritted teeth. I curled my toes inside my shoes as I felt a real urge to just sock him in the mouth right then and there. Who the _hell _was he to mention Bill to me?

Leaning forward, Eric raised his eyes to me. "We need to talk."

"About what?" I snapped.

The vampire cocked his head to the side, sparing another glance to the customers who were darkly whispering to themselves. "Not here. I need to speak to you in private."

"I'm working so you'll just have to say what you've gotta say and leave." I said flatly.

It happened all too fast. One moment, Eric was sitting down and the next thing I knew, he was standing right in front of me. He towered over me and stood so close that my body grazed his. Behind me, I heard the customers gasp.

"Get outside. Now."

"Don't you dare—!"

"_Now. _This is a matter from the queen."

For a moment, I considered telling him to go fuck himself but that wouldn't have done much good so I bit my tongue to keep quiet. I gazed up at him, looking right past his cold eyes. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw a flicker of amusement liven his face but it probably was just my imagination. Eric wasn't the relaxed and open type, neither was he somebody who laughed a whole lot. Unless some sadistic, creepy shit was going on, I could definitely seem him cracking a smile at that.

"Ladies first." Eric nodded towards the nearest exit.

Giving him my most bitchy, withering glare, I stormed away from him and shoved myself out of Merlotte's.

_This better be damn good, _I thought as I stomped my way into the parking lot with Eric following in the wake of my shadow.

* * *


	2. Disturbance

Barely a second after I heard the door shut, I whirled around to see Eric standing in the lot. The streetlamp etched his form with an orange glow and when the bulb flickered, shadows danced over his face, covering his eyes one second then illuminating his brow the next. The sight of him standing there, aloof and impassive, erased whatever self control I had left. Of all the times Eric had to pick to come and talk to me, he just _had _to pick today.

"Look, I'm sorry Sophie-Anne made you drive all the way here but no, all right? I am _not _doing anything for her!" I burst out.

"If you give me a chance to speak, you might reconsider." Eric calmly replied.

"Are you even listening to me? I said—"

"It doesn't matter whether you like this or not." He interrupted. "The queen has recommended you for this mission. That alone is enough reason for me to summon you."

"_Summon me?_ I repeated incredulously. "Who d'you think you're talking to?"

"A human whose life I've saved multiple times."

"Just because you rescued me doesn't give you the right to treat me like I'm some kind of slave!" I answered, indignant.

"I beg to differ." Eric glowered at me.

"I don't owe you or that psycho queen _anything._" I ground out.

"You said that you would help me anytime I needed it." He reminded. "You gave me your word."

"Are you seriously gonna try and pull that shit with me again?"

"It's still binding."

"According to you." I snorted.

"I'm only asking you out of courtesy. You know I have every right and authority to take you from Bon Temps." Eric answered with a hint of a warning in his voice.

I shook my head, unable to believe what he was saying. Then again, vampires had no sense of personal space nor did they respect individual rights, I might add. As Sam would have done in a stressful situation, I ran my fingers vigorously through my hair as I felt my temper rise.

"Eric." I let out a long sigh. "I've had a _really_ bad day today and the last thing I need is an order from Sophie-Anne. I've missed a lot of work as it is and if Sam and I weren't friends, I'd be fired by now."

Unsurprisingly, Eric didn't even bat an eye. Of course, what was I thinking? This guy was the last person on earth who could give a shit about my problems.

"You'll be compensated."

I almost laughed. As if _money_ was what I needed. No, what I needed was time and that itself was running out. How many more seconds did I have to waste in this crap parking lot and tell a dumbass vampire to go away?

"No." I looked at him right in the face.

"All you have to do is read people's thoughts, Sookie. You don't have to fight and your life won't be put at risk."

I sucked the inside of my mouth. Anger fizzled and bubbled inside of me like a shaken bottle of Coca-Cola. Slowly, I stepped towards him. Gravel crunched under my feet and the closer I got, I began to shrink while Eric grew taller. He was a lot bigger than me so I had to crane my neck to properly look him eye-to-eye.

"You said that in Shreveport." I said. "You said that in Dallas and in New Orleans but it _never_ worked out that way."

I could see Eric's lips curve into a frown. As far as he was concerned, I was all but accusing him for everything that happened within the past year. "Are you suggesting I'm the one responsible for your previous injuries?"

"Who made me to go to those missions in the first place?" I snapped.

"If you want to blame someone then blame Bill. I knew he was incompetent to begin with but you kept insisting that he escort you." Eric said coldly. "But I didn't come here to discuss your former lover's subpar qualities."

"Then what are you here for?" I asked none too politely, resigned to the fact that Eric was not going to leave until he said what he had to say.

"The queen needs you to find out information, sensitive and crucial information that not only affect her but virtually all the vampire sovereigns in North America."

I nodded, listening unhappily.

"Sophie-Anne and many of the state monarchs purchased investments from a Parisian branch of Credit Suisse." Eric elaborated. "Lately, there have been some issues which worry her."

"Like?"

"Like the fact that the queen has been receiving steadily high returns."

"How is that an 'issue'?"

"Credit Suisse has also been more secretive about their financial stratagem. This sort of behavior is making the queen and the other monarchs suspicious. They think Credit Suisse might be constructing a Ponzi scheme."

My brow quirked up in confusion. "A Ponzi what?"

"It's a con." Eric simplified in layman's terms.

Quickly, I connected the dots and figured out exactly what Sophie-Anne wanted of me. "So you want me to infiltrate this 'Credit Suisse' and dig through people's minds to confirm if Sophie-Anne's getting robbed right?"

Eric paused. "It's a little more complicated than that."

_Fabulous! _I thought to myself in bitter sarcasm. There was always—without fail, I might add—some kind of string attached to this kind of situation.

"There's a vampiress who has controlling influence in Credit Suisse and its executive board. Her position makes it…difficult…for Sophie-Anne to confront her directly."

"Why?"

"Because," Eric paused as if searching for the right word to describe this woman, "the vampiress is powerful and extremely well connected."

I arched my eyebrows in surprise. Well that was certainly one way of catching my attention. It's worth mentioning that for Eric to admit someone was 'powerful' was not only a rare occasion but a big red flag. Whomever he considered strong was usually a vampire that you did not fuck with. Period.

"So it's a 'she'?"

"Feodore de France."

"Feo…" I stumbled over the name.

"Feodore." Eric repeated impatiently, noticing how I was struggling to keep a straight face. "Alexandrine Feodore Thérèse de France."

"That sounds even worse!" I burst out laughing.

"This isn't funny." Eric said, annoyed. "Feodore is stronger than me _and _Sophie-Anne. Her maker was a Caesar and one of the oldest vampires so she isn't someone to be dismissed lightly."

"Geez, calm down, I just thought her name sounded weird."

"Well you better make sure you learn how to respect her." Eric chastised. "Feodore is also recognized as the Queen Mother in France."

"You guys have kings and queens in Europe too?"

I could tell I was annoying Eric with my questions because of how he paused in between his answers.

"Yes." He finally replied. "But Feodore isn't an elected queen like the ones we have here in the U.S. She was a Merovingian princess in her human life so she has a legitimate claim to the throne."

"But you said she's 'Queen Mother.'" I pointed out.

"She married one of her human descendants into the Bourbon dynasty and because of that, she's the 'mother' of the heirs to the French crown."

"Uh huh…" I regarded Eric with a skeptical face. The fancy names passed through my head since frankly, they didn't mean squat to me. "So you think this hoity-toity vampire lady might be using the bank to steal from Sophie-Anne and the others."

"In a nutshell, yes."

I frowned. "But that makes no sense. If she's a queen, why would she need to steal money?"

"Even royalty can be poor." Eric answered.

"You don't know the real reason, do you?" I observed. "It doesn't make sense for you either."

"Even if I did, I would still investigate to confirm. If Sophie-Anne accuses Feodore, she has to be sure of it. Absolutely sure." He emphasized the last two words. "Which is why I need you in Paris to find out."

Shock electrified me on the spot. "You need me _where?_"

"Paris, didn't I make myself clear?" Eric asked, apparently oblivious to my reaction.

"_Paris_ as in _France? _You—are you out of your mind?!" I squawked.

Even though it was dark, I could have sworn Eric rolled his eyes at me. "Sookie, Feodore and the French branch of Credit Suisse are in Paris. They're not coming to America anytime soon."

"How long are you expecting me to be there?" I demanded.

"As long as it takes to get the information we need." said Eric but not before I let out a derisive snort and turned away. "Remember, Sophie-Anne agreed to compensate you."

"Money isn't everything!"

"If you just let me tell you the sum—"

"—you want me to fly across the Atlantic, get myself involved with financial crooks, risk my life against another scary group of vampires, and for what?" I cut in. "Just so I can 'confirm' something. Well it aint worth it to me and I sure as hell am not going!" I stormed away from him to get back to Merlotte's where I knew I'd get funny looks and dark mutterings from the customers once I stepped inside. But between a crowd of suspicious people and Eric bossing me around, I'd choose the former on any given day of the week. With them, I at least had the right to refuse service.

"You don't have a choice." Eric called after me.

"Yes I do!" I shot back.

Then just as I turned my head, he was standing right in front of me. I stepped back, startled, but he drew in further. I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. His lashes were so light that his gaze seemed lidless and intent as a snake's glare and if a bomb had exploded nearby, I doubted that he would've blinked.

"Here." There was a crinkling sound as Eric passed down a sealed envelope to me. "It's your check." He explained when I wouldn't take it.

"I haven't done anything for you." I replied. I tried to walk past him but he blocked my path. A smile played on his lips as if he were having fun with this. Maybe he did.

"Not yet." Eric answered, lowering his hand. He leaned in close, just enough for me to hear him say, "You leave in two weeks. I'll be sending someone over to your house to prepare you."

"I aint going anywhere." I firmly repeated.

The corner of Eric's lips lifted, revealing his glimmering fangs. "See you soon."

And before I could reply, he vanished.

For a while, I stood there in the dark, breathing the summer night air. Mosquitoes and moths were buzzing near me, flicking against the streetlamp bulb then falling to their death once their bodies got scorched from the heat. I could hear Arlene's heels clickety-clack their way to the tables and people setting down their cups of after-dinner coffee. Like magic, everything had returned to normal after Eric's disappearance.

I climbed up the steps to go back inside when I heard a slight crunch then looked down.

Eric had left the check in my apron pocket.

* * *

_Stupid me, _I thought as I collapsed onto my bed. The mattress quivered then stood still as my body relaxed into it. I leaned my head to the side to see Gran's rosewood dresser and her old nightstand. Their tops were littered with framed photographs of smiling faces, young and old, all of them familiar. My eyes reached towards them, devouring each one in love and memory.

On the far right, I could see two year old Jason awkwardly holding my infant self and looking at the camera with a baffled expression. My parents' wedding photo stood next to that picture and adjacent to that, was a black-and-white portrait of Gran in her twenties. I breathed deep, taking in the wonderfully familiar scent of my house.

"I should've come here first_._" I murmured to myself. My eyes lazily traveled from the photos to my pillow and there, was the envelope. Crinkled from its journey and still unbroken. I lay there, absent-mindedly tapping my finger against the sharp corner. I was still angry. I didn't like how Eric presumed I had no say in the matter and insisted that I go to Paris. I had enough people ordering me around at Merlotte's anyway.

Still, I was curious. How much did Sophie-Anne think I was worth? I grabbed the envelope and tore the seal off.

_Pay to the Order of: __Miss Sookie Stackhouse_

_Eight hundred thousand dollars:__ $800,000_

_For: Services_

The check was dated Thursday and signed in violet ink by Sophie-Anne Leclerq. I sat up with the slip in hand, amazed. Had the circumstances been different, I would've taken this money without feeling too guilty. The check curled into my palm as my hand closed over it. Eight hundred thousand dollars was a hell of a lot more than what I had in my savings account. It was more than enough to cover bills and a good portion of the mortgage payments on the house.

_Besides, _I morbidly thought, _Jason's gonna need alotta money for the funeral. _

The casket alone would cost a fortune and the plot itself was just as expensive. Then there was the headstone and the engravings to factor in plus flower arrangements. Maybe I could make my brother's life easier if I just told him to keep things simple. But if I took the money, I had to go to Paris.

I'm not sure how long I hesitated. Maybe thirty seconds, a minute, or longer. I sat on that bed, surrounded by all the comforts of my home. Sure it wasn't a luxury penthouse but it was safe and familiar. This was my defense zone, the one place where I could shut the world out and be me. But it was also limited. I couldn't see a lot of things from a house with four walls unless I stepped out the door.

As much as I didn't want to think or even acknowledge it, I had to.

I was a dead woman walking and I couldn't put things off anymore even if I wanted to. Time hadn't meant a lot to me before I realized I had cancer and now I couldn't stop thinking about it. I could feel the paranoia gnawing at me, eating my sanity away inch by inch.

Paris. Any girl should've been thrilled with the idea of going there except I wasn't going to be on vacation. I was going to be working for a vampire queen who cared about nobody but herself so she could fight with another vampire queen. How ridiculous was that?

"Oh Gran, what am I gonna do?" I whispered helplessly.

_Knock knock knock. _

I still remember that sound, the brisk tapping of knuckles against the whitewashed door. It paused then came again with double the persistence. At first, I thought it was Sam. It would've been so like him to stop by to make sure I was okay then lecture me for a good hour on how I shouldn't be dealing with vamps no more because they did nothing but cause trouble.

"Coming!" I called, getting up.

I descended the stairs and without even asking who it was, I swung the door open.

Well, it wasn't Sam.

A pair of unfamiliar men stood on my front porch, staring back at me with the same expression of curiosity and surprise that I had on. One was dressed in a tweed suit so brown and coarse that it looked like it was made out of potato sacks. He had covered his head with a newsboy cap and perched on his nose was a pair of rimless glasses. The other was also in a suit but his was so much more stylish that his partner was like a pauper next to him. His hair was neatly kept and I certainly would've thought he was handsome had it not been for the uppity look he gave me.

"Miss Stackhouse?" The plain man inquired in a smooth British accent.

"Yes…?" I stared at them.

"_You're _her?" The one in the nice suit asked in disbelief. His hazel eyes widened in shock. Unlike his partner, he didn't have an accent but he definitely sounded American. _Probably a Yankee_, I thought.

"Yes, I'm Sookie Stackhouse." I answered, bewildered.

"Good god." The guy dramatically looked away. "_This _is what I'm given to _work with_?"

"I'm in no position to give you any opinions, Christian, seeing as how I'm here to teach her _politics_. Not style her wardrobe." The plain one coolly replied.

"Just look at her!" The man addressed as "Christian" protested.

"Excuse me?" I gaped.

The plain one brusquely turned from Christian, clearly not interested in talking to the guy. "Excuse us, Ms. Stackhouse. I'm Maxwell Chaffee." He extended a hand. "I'm a consultant from Princeton University."

"Hi..." I awkwardly shook his hand only to find that it was ice cold. I studied him, noticing that while his coloring was dark rather than pale, his eyes had that drawn look I'd only seen on vamps. I concentrated on his face, letting my mind open up to his but there was nothing. All I could hear was ringing silence until a fast current of thoughts rushed through my mind.

_Gross, gross, gross! Her thighs are wider than a sequoia and that ass…oh god, that ass…it's so huge…how the fuck does Eric expect me to hide that thing? _

"What is your problem?!" I shrieked at Christian, startling him and Maxwell. I glared at them, outraged and feeling deeply insulted.

"Um, Christian Badgley." He introduced himself, looking at me as if horns had sprouted from my head. "Fashion consultant."

_Man, why is this bitch PMS-ing? _Christian's voice complained in my head.

"Get off my porch!" I demanded. "Who are you people anyway?!"

Maxwell stepped back but Christian stayed right where he was, peering over my shoulder to see the inside of the house.

"Mr. Northman sent us," Maxwell confirmed to my ill-disguised malcontent, "to help you familiarize yourself with the vampire society in France—"

"—and to look hot." Christian cut in, flashing what he thought was a winning smile. "Don't worry. You might not be the best raw material but then again, I've seen worse."

_God _damn_ you Eric. _I chewed my lip, feeling a muscle grow near my temple.

"May we come in?" Maxwell pleaded again.

"Yeah, we don't have a lot of time, and believe me," Christian lowered his eyes, scanning me from the very tips of my holed slippers to my unkempt hair. "I've got my work cut out."

Then without further ado, this diva of a man pushed right past me and waltzed into my home sans permissions. I stared after him in outrage as he went around commenting the furniture and décor.

"Wow it's like a time capsule in here!" Christian looked around in awe. "Hey Max, come check this out!"

"Get back here!" Maxwell hissed. "You blithering idiot, don't you have any manners?"

"Who is _this _hunk?" Christian asked me, completely ignoring Max. He pointed out Jason's highschool graduation photo.

"I'd appreciate it if you left my home." I replied through gritted teeth. "_Now_."

"Jason Stackhouse." Christian read aloud from the name plaque beneath the photograph. "Damn…I guess there is such a thing as a hot redneck. Is this guy a relative of yours?"

"GET OUT!" I yelled.

Christian jumped about a foot in the air, almost knocking off the picture from the wall. He scurried out of the house like a rat while I could hear him cursing and verbalizing his shock in his head.

"Miss Stackhouse, I apologize—" here Maxwell threw a nasty look at Christian "—for Mr. Badgley's behavior. But please try to understand, Mr. Northman brought us here to help you—"

"Well Eric can start by not delivering random people to my house in the middle of the night, particularly ones who are assholes." I interrupted, glaring at Christian.

"I'm sorry to be such a disturbance but we…well Mr. Northman…told us that we were to stay here." Maxwell tried to explain.

"He told you _what_?" I thundered.

"Yeah, he told us we're bunking with you." Christian turned to me. "So what do you say? Are you going to let us in or not?

"_No_."

I slammed the door shut in his face. As I marched back upstairs, I could hear Maxwell berating Christian, calling him all sorts of names and telling him he had no right to talk to me "that way."

"Well how was I supposed to know she was so sensitive?" Christian's voice echoed from outside. "It's not _my _fault. I was only telling the truth!"

"You don't tell someone you've just met that she isn't the 'best raw material'!" Maxwell shouted. "What are you playing at?"

Shaking my head, I dragged myself back into my room and closed the door. I leaned my head against the panels, listening to the exchange of voices until at last, they disappeared. When they were gone, I walked over to the nightstand, knelt down, and pulled the telephone jack out of the wall.

_There, _I thought in grim satisfaction. This way, at least, I could ensure a good night's rest without Eric bothering me with a call. As far as I was concerned, I had dealt enough of his bullshit tonight.

Unfortunately, I forgot that when it came to Eric Northman, he always got his way, and a human woman's displeasure was hardly an obstacle for him.

Not in the least.


	3. The Glass of Fashion

**A/N:** _A big thank you to the readers and reviewers! For some reason, many of the stores mentioned in this chapter are not in any part of New Orleans (or Louisiana for that matter) so I've had to get a bit "creative." _

_

* * *

_Eggs sizzled as they slid onto the hot pan and grease. The opaque edges bubbled against the oil as I pushed them with the spatula and hummed along to The Cranberries_. _My fingers stretched out and pulled back the curtain from the kitchen window. Light spilled in like somebody tipped over a glass of sunbeams and the contents had splashed all around the walls.

Today, this morning, was as simple and beautiful like an ordinary day.

I waltzed around the kitchen, side stepping from the stove to the counter then circling the sink so I could put my hands through running water and draw them out to wipe against my apron. Hot English muffins popped out of the toaster and by the time I was done with the sunny-side ups, they were cool enough to touch and butter up. I tipped the eggs onto a plate of sausages and sat myself down to begin breakfast.

Silence blared around me.

The knife and fork rested near my wrist. The napkins were in their holder and steam was rising from my plate, curling upwards then evaporating before it reached the ceiling. _What are you waiting for? _Something seemed to say to me.

But I couldn't bring myself to move. Not even to reach for the salt shaker. I couldn't play this charade of an unremarkable twenty-six year old having eggs on an equally unremarkable morning.

I rested my elbows against the table edge.

Yesterday's meeting with Dr. Bloomsbury was such a blur. I could only recall bits and pieces really. I had options but they sure weren't solid ones. Surgery and a strict chemotherapy regimen could buy me more time that I understood. The rest was up to God. Cautiously, slowly, my hand circled my abdomen in a clumsy search for my liver. How much would the doctors have to cut out? How much poison did I have to absorb?

_Will it be worth it? _I looked out the window and raised my eyes to sky.

But before my question could be answered, the kitchen door rattled.

"Hell_ooooo_? Anyone there?"

I swiveled around in my chair in surprise.

_Christian._ That unspeakably rude stylist who ruined my evening last night with his callous thoughts.

"Go away please!" I called out.

"Nononono!" He screeched as he pounded my door. "For the love of _God _I _have _to come inside!"

"No you don't." I answered.

"_Pleeeeeeeeease! _It's a matter of life and death!"

"It's daytime now and I don't think any vamps are chasing you if that's what you want me to believe."

"I have stuff for you! From Eric and Max—ugh—ohfortheloveofgodopenthedoor!"

It was as this point that I decided to get up. I was mean, and he deserved it, but he sounded so desperate that I felt it would be cruel to not acquiesce.

When I pulled the door back, I found Christian, wearing the most ridiculous outfit for summertime. A crisp, silvery white suit and a striped Oxford, on a hot day no less. Well he sure looked like he was suffering in it because he was sweating like a hog and clutching his crotch with both hands. His aviator sunglasses were askew and dangerously close to slipping off his face. Next to him were half a dozen black shopping bags but what they contained, I had no idea.

I gawked at Christian, half torn by amusement and annoyance.

"Can—I—use—your—bathroom—?" He struggled to speak.

"Where'd you come from?" I looked outside to find a shiny S-class Mercedes-Benz in the driveway next to my clunker Datsun. A uniformed man, presumably the driver, was leaning against the town car and smoking a cigarette.

"Compton House." Christian squeaked, biting his lip as he tried to stand still.

"Bill's?" I asked, dumbfounded. "What are you doing at Bill's?"

"Eric—told—us—to—go—to—Compton—"

"—why couldn't you use the bathroom at his place? He's got a toilet you know."

Christian's face screwed up like he had bit into a lemon."_He doesn't have toilet paper_."

I stood aside. "Upstairs to your left."

"Thank you!" Christian gasped as he flung himself into the kitchen and hurdled up the stairs. Once I heard the bathroom door shut, I stepped outside, brought all the shopping bags in, and set them on the table. I expected Christian to come down in a few minutes but when he didn't, I got curious and decided to fish through the bags. After all, he did say that these were for me.

The first thing I pulled out was a brand new Blackberry packaged in a sleek box. I stared at the phone in surprise, marveling over its features which were displayed on the cover. In the next bag, I found a U.S. passport containing my photograph (which I didn't remember taking) listed under the name _Anna Helene Lanier._ The birth date, home address, and even the social security number were all different than my own.

_What am I getting myself into? _I grimly thought as I looked down at my picture.

There was more. It turned out that these things Max and Eric had packaged weren't for _me _but for _Anna_. Following the passport, I withdrew a cream-colored Coach checkbook wallet stuffed with a driver's license and numerous credit cards, all bearing the name _Anna H. Lanier._ There was even stationery, notebooks, and fountain pens inscribed with my new alias. Lastly, there were two heavy black binders filled with laminated pages of people's faces. Text blurbs were written on the sides next to the photographs, each spelling out a name, a country, where he or she lived, and what this person did for a living.

By the time Christian came back, I was already sifting through one of the binders, trying to make sense of all the information. Why had Max—and Eric—given this to me?

"God, I love Charmin." Christian sighed as he breezed into the kitchen. When he caught me reading he said, "Oh good, so you've gone and looked through everything. Fabulous."

I looked up from the binder. "What's this for?"

"Your cover, babe." answered Christian. He walked over to the kitchen sink and leaned close to the faucet so he could see his reflection. As he combed down flyaway strands of his brown hair he added, "Besides, the French won't be able to pronounce your real name anyway."

"What're the credit cards for?"

"Oh that's the best part." said Christian as he adjusted his sunglasses. "As your stylist, it's my responsibility to outfit you in the best way possible. When you're in Paris, you'll have to attend a gazillion social functions that require strict dress codes."

"So what's that got to do with the fake credit cards?"

"They're not fake!" Christian beamed. "Well, the name is a lie obviously, but everything that's going to get charged on the cards will be paid for by Louisiana, California, and Florida. Couture runs pretty expensive, they all understand."

"What…?" I rose from my chair.

"_Yes_." Christian happily nodded. "I get to go shopping with you _all day_ then we have to head back here every night so Max can teach you the useless, boring shit." He waved towards the binders. "So come on! Hurry up and get dressed! We're driving to New Orleans."

My mouth dropped open.

"Or finish your breakfast, if you want." He peered down at my unfinished meal then grimaced. "Actually no, don't take another bite. You have so much saturated fat going on here." He circled his hand over my plate.

"What—no!" I sat right back down, feeling overwhelmed. Go to New Orleans _today? _No, I had to go to Shreveport. Better yet, I had to call Dr. Bloomsbury and talk to him about what to do. I couldn't shop and I certainly didn't want to go with this stuck up, unmAnnared Yankee.

Christian rolled his eyes in impatience. "Umm…in case of you didn't realize it yesterday…I only have two weeks to outfit you before you leave for Paris."

"I aint going." I refused for what seemed like the umpteenth time. "I don't get why Eric can't wrap his stupid brain around that."

"Are you doing this because of what I said yesterday?" Christian slyly asked, looking very coy. "If it is, I'm sorry. I won't say another word or _think _it." He winked at me.

Was it possible for this fella to realize that everything wasn't about him, even for a minute?

_Nope, _my conscience assessed, _not a bit. _

After twenty minutes of nonstop pestering from Christian and me demanding him to leave the house, I threw up my hands and gave in. While Christian stepped out to smoke, I called Sam, left a thousand apologies on his machine, and went upstairs to get dressed.

"Is that all you have?" Christian asked me when I came out, eying my casual outfit of a simple white blouse and khaki skirt.

"It's hot today." I curtly responded, giving him a look. "Got a problem with it?"

Christian opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted when the chauffeur opened the car and gestured for me to get inside. Shrugging, he just shut up and followed me in.

By a combination of sheer luck and considerably less traffic, we arrived in New Orleans around four in the afternoon. To pass the time, Christian and I napped in the car. I was beginning to find out that I liked him a lot more when he was sleeping than awake because he sure could gab and would've given any highschool girl a run for her money when it came to gossiping.

He was very talkative during the last hour of the drive, telling me about himself along with everything and everyone he had encountered from adolescence to adulthood. He came from San Francisco but as soon as he graduated from highschool, he flew across the country to New York City to embark on a career dedicated to fashion. I guess the risky move paid off because he now worked on the design team for some guy called Marc Jacobs.

"Marc _so_ wanted to dress Eric." Christian sympathetically sighed. "But he was tied up with prep for the fall collection. There was no _way _he could come down to Louisiana so he asked me to consult instead."

"Who's Marc?"

The look on Christian's face was that of pure shock. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't just ask that."

"What's wrong with me asking who he is?"

"_Anyway_," he overrode, "so here's the schedule for today. First, we're going to stop by Neiman Marcus and Bloomingdales. You did bring your credit cards right?"

"Yep." I patted my purse.

"Okay, good. Now when we get there, we're going to meet some friends of mine who are going to pick stuff out for you. As far as they know, you're Anna Lanier to them. Not Sookie Stackhouse, got it? Now after Bloomingdales, we need to head down to BCBG, Coach, Hermès…."

My eyes glazed over as Christian rattled off the names. Stifling a yawn, I turned my head to the side and closed my eyes to resume my nap and if he noticed my obvious lack of interest, he didn't say a word.

* * *

_New Orleans_

_

* * *

  
_

"Here we are miss!" The chauffeur announced, waking me from stupor.

"_Finally!_" Christian scrambled out.

"Wazgoinon?" I mumbled.

"Shopping time!" Christian sang, grabbing my wrist and pulling me out of the car with surprising strength. I wobbled out to find myself standing in front of an enormous building that looked it was carved out of a block of marble. The name _Neiman Marcus_was displayed on front in bold, black calligraphic writing.

"We'll see you in a bit John!" Christian waved to the driver who touched his hat in response then drove off.

"Ah, I am back in heaven." He breathed deeply as we walked into the air-conditioned mall.

Strangely, Christian's words were a fitting description. Everything in that mall was spotless down to the very last carpet hair. The interiors were painted in soft peach and muted gold, the colors accented by well placed display lights and mirrors. There seemed to be an endless supply of racks holding onto pristine clothes and in every corner there were plushy lounge chairs for you to sit on. I looked up and to my surprise, there was a glass ceiling.

"Why look who's here."

I stopped and looked down to see a stunning black girl walk towards me in quick strides. Her hips sashayed as her stilettos clicked against the floor in rhythm and on her body was the most well-cut business suit I'd ever seen. Her diamond studs glittered as she offered her cheek for Christian to kiss.

"Sarah!" He greeted as he leant down. "So good to see you. I'm assuming you got my call?"

"Yes, everything's ready. All we have to do is pick and choose." Sarah smiled when she withdrew. "I hope you don't mind but the staff pulled up quite a few options…probably more than we need. What size are you, Ms. Lanier?" She pointedly looked at me.

_Pitiful, _I could hear Sarah snipe, _it'll be a miracle if any of the clothes we have actually _fit _her._

"I'm a normal size for a woman and I fit just fine in most of the stuff I own." I defiantly told her.

At the comment, Sarah looked taken aback.

"Umm…" Christian turned to examine me. "Eight, I think. I also believe her shoe size is seven and a half."

Sarah's expertly plucked brow rose.

"I know, I know," said an exasperated Christian. "But what can we do? It's what we've got to work with."

"But the largest Chanel and YSL carry is six." Sarah frowned. Her smooth forehead wrinkled in worry.

"I forgot about that." Christian sighed. "Well I don't know…" he looked at me again. "Maybe we can alter some of the sixes so we can make more room for the hips and bust. You still have Michelle right?"

"I do." Sarah affirmed, also turning her attention to me.

By then, I was not only embarrassed but severely annoyed with Christian and Sarah. With the way they were looking at me, it like I was some kind of alien blob that had oozed itself into Neiman Marcus.

"I suppose it won't be so bad if Michelle just loosened some stitches." Sarah shrugged. "All right, let's go. Everyone's waiting upstairs in the boudoir."

For the next two hours, I was subjugated to fitting after fitting. I tried on enough dresses, suits, skirts, and pants to last me a lifetime, let me tell you. Silk, cotton, velvet, lace, satin, jersey, wool, fur. Tags and tags of brand names slipped on and off my body, landing on the floor or back on the hanger.

Michelle, who happened to be an expert tailor, accompanied me into the fitting room. She was a lot kinder to me in that she didn't say much whereas the others did. Sarah, Christian, and a few other Neiman Marcus 'stylists' as they called themselves were my audience as I modeled the clothes and boy, they sure weren't a friendly audience. They scowled most of the time and rarely, if ever, smiled.

"NO!" Sarah practically yelled when she saw me in a flowing gypsy skirt and a Lacoste V-neck. "Who put that together?" She whirled around to the other assistants who immediately avoided her gaze.

When no one answered, Sarah glared at them and threatened in an icy voice: "When I find out the idiot who pieced that travesty of an outfit and decided to call it 'couture,' I'll make sure he or she never works in fashion again."

_SHIT! _Someone panicked. _I hope she doesn't know it was me…oh my god, I can't get fired! I just can't! What'll Mama say when I come home and tell her I lost the job…? _

My eyes weaved through the terrified huddle of stylists, searching for the person whose thoughts rang so clearly in my head until finally, I managed to pinpoint the girl. She had backed herself into a tight corner and was trying to hide behind one of her coworkers.

"You know, I actually find the skirt comfy—" I began.

"Ms. Lanier, please try on something else." Sarah cut across me with an eerily polite smile.

I stared at her. "Okay…"

After a couple more tries, I finally got a winner.

"That one." Sarah approved when I walked out the changing room wearing an aquamarine charmeuse gown by Chloe. "It's perfect with the Manolos, don't you think so?" She turned to Christian who nodded and gave me a thumbs up.

While I switched back to my old clothes, Christian and Sarah's team decided my final wardrobe. In addition to the Chloe gown, they selected a stunning emerald silk cocktail dress from Badgley Mischka, a Chanel black beaded gown, and a slate-blue Giorgio Armani raiment. The dresses, everyone agreed, would stay at Neiman Marcus for Michelle to tailor and then be shipped to Paris.

Following this were half a dozen pairs of Seven for All Mankind jeans in dark washes, an endless amount of tops from various designers, and sixteen sets of shoes. The grand total came to $15,435.39 which I grudgingly paid with my fake Visa.

"I can't believe how much I'm spending right now." I muttered as the customer service rep rang me up.

"Relax!" Christian dismissed. "You're not even paying for it!"

Point taken. In fact, it even gave me some grim satisfaction knowing that Sophie-Anna, Eric, and other unsavory vamps were the ones who were covering my expenses. To appease my vexation (a lovely word I picked up on Tuesday from my Word-of-the-Day calendar), I added a pair of royal purple Manolo Blahniks as an afterthought. I smiled when the amount totaled $482.99, imagining Eric raging over the cost back at Fangtasia.

The man deserved it for Christ's sake.

"Thanks Sarah! We'll be back soon!" Christian waved goodbye as we left.

At Bloomingdales, the style team there was a lot nicer than Sarah's was. They didn't flat out insult me and when they criticized, it was more on the clothes rather than my body. In the end, they picked out a Burberry belted coat and a white trench along with twenty or so skirts made by this-and-that designer. I really could've cared less and got impatient with the cashier when he couldn't bag the blooming things away fast enough.

When we got to BCBG, Christian declared that four evening gowns weren't enough so he added three more cocktail dresses to boot.

I was staggering by the time John, our driver, pulled us up to the Coach boutique.

"I need to eat." I told Christian when he started getting out of the car.

"Sookie, come on!" He complained with one foot on the sidewalk and the other inside the Mercedes-Benz. "I had to pull a _ton _of favors to get Coach and Hermès to open after hours! And we're not even celebrities!"

"Christian, I didn't eat breakfast today or anything else after that." I pointed out. "Now, unless you want me to starve, I aint taking one step out this car until I get some food."

"All right, all right." Christian grudgingly agreed as he swung himself back in and shut the door after him.

"Where to Ms. Stackhouse?" John looked at me from the rearview mirror.

"Whole Foods Market." Christian jumped in before I could say open my mouth. "If you're going to eat, you need to start by getting organic from now on. Preferably a salad."

"Is that where you want to go, miss?" John asked for confirmation.

I paused. From the corner of my eye, I could see a satin red blouse and a chartreuse halter peeking out from one of my many shopping bags. Inspiration struck me on the spot. Leaning over to the driver's seat, I whispered in John's ear.

"You got it, Ms. Stackhouse." He laughed as I pulled away.

"Wait what?" Christian looked at me and the chauffeur, mystified. "What's going on? Where are we going?"

"You'll see." I said primly.

* * *

"Hi there, welcome to McDonalds! May I take your order?" A bright sunny voice inquired from the speakers.

"Yeah, hi, I'd like two Big Macs please and some chicken nuggets." I answered from the open window, gazing at the bright Drive-Thru menu.

"What kind of drink you want?"

"Coke." John replied.

"Root beer." I seconded. "And…oh, Christian, what you want?"

The fashion consultant spared me a withering glance. "Diet Pepsi." He muttered.

"One diet Pepsi." I added to the order.

"All righty, just drive on by to pay and pick up!" The voice rang before the speaker clicked dead.

I tossed John my credit card when we came up to the window to exchange it for three steaming hot bags of delicious hamburgers and three large cups filled to the brim with soda. At Christian's insistence, John drove us back up front to the Coach boutique so we could continue shopping for accessories after we ate.

"Thanks Ms. Stackhouse," said John in a gracious manner before he bit into his Big Mac.

"Anytime John." I grinned as I popped a delicious, golden French fry into my mouth. "Want one, Chris?"

"Hell freaking no." Christian vehemently refused. He cringed from me as though I were offering him spiders instead of regular fries to eat.

"What's the matter? Afraid of a little oil and fat?" I teased as I unwrapped my Big Mac and sank my teeth into it.

"My god, how can you eat that thing?!" Christian asked me sounding frantic. "Do you know how many calories you're ingesting right now? Do you?"

"Nope and I don't give a damn." I blithely replied.

"Amen." John nodded.

"You people are weird." Christian shook his head as he drank his diet Pepsi.

"Chris, c'mon, have a nugget." I nudged the greasy box towards him. "You haven't eaten anything all day either. You gotta be starving by now."

He edged away.

"You know, it's not a bad thing to eat these every once in a while." I said. "They won't kill you and so what if they make you gain a little weight? It's no big deal."

I could tell the guy was fighting tooth-and-nail to keep his mouth shut. Curious, I sifted through his mind but only heard an ongoing mantra: _peace, peace, peace, peace, peace, PEACE!_

I smiled.

Apparently Christian meant what he said and he really did try today. When I really thought about it, I realized he hadn't made a single wisecrack about my figure. Maybe I shouldn't have dismissed his apology so lightly this morning. Gran did always say that you should never judge people from first impressions alone.

"After we finish, why don't we go to this…Whole Foods place…and get you something to eat?" I ventured kindly. "I don't like the idea of you just having Diet Pepsi for dinner."

For the briefest moment, Christian's face softened up like butter sitting out on a hot day. He looked at me in surprise then smiled, a real genuine smile. "Really?"

"Well you've worked so hard today and you deserve a break." I added. It was true. After all, it was mighty hard work to run around nonstop from one shopping mall to the next while figuring out what kind of clothes worked or not.

"Aw, you are so sweet Sookie!" Christian beamed.

It took a day's worth of shopping and some McDonalds takeout but the ice had finally broken. I even had to admit, the day wasn't so bad. I did go shopping, something I didn't get to do very often, and I got myself thousands of dollars worth of clothes that would make any woman sick with envy. Plus I didn't have to pay a single cent!

Christian and I spent the half hour chatting with John and once or twice, we'd slip in to fangirling over Eric though I assure you I did not lavish over the vamp like a dog in heat. Christian did most of that.

"He is so _fucking _gorgeous, how can you not like him?" Christian demanded. "He is a damn sex god! You know how many boys out there fantasize about him in bed?"

"I don't think I want to." I laughed.

"But seriously, why don't you like him?" Christian pressed.

"He is attractive." I agreed. "But that's the only good thing about him. I just don't understand why girls—and boys—go after him like a piece meat though...he's so selfish and such a sleeze!"

"But he's a fine piece of meat isn't he?" Christian lazily grinned. "It's worth chasing after and hey, you know my boss Marc Jacobs? Well he once told me that if he had a chance to sleep with Eric Northman, he'd give up his entire career for it."

"All that for Eric?"

"All that for Eric." He nodded. "I'm telling you Sookie…you are one _lucky _girl to be going with him to Paris."

I frowned. "What d'you mean 'with him'?"

Christian laughed, probably at the sight of my confused expression. "Babe, you didn't know? You're going to Paris _with _Eric! You'll be pretending to be his girlfriend while you're there. It's part of your cover."

"WHAT?"

I sat up so suddenly that I spilled my fries all over the leather seats and bumped my head against the ceiling.

"You all right Ms. Stackhouse?" John whirled around in his seat.

"Nope." I winced, sinking back down.

"Okay then…" said Christian, bewildered by my behavior. I can't say I blamed him, seeing as how he thought my cover was something a million girls (and guys) would die for, not something to be angry over. He glanced outside the car window. "Well why don't we just go in now? You're done with your burger right?"

"Yeah." I muttered, still feeling a sting on my forehead and a fantastic temper rising up a storm. Well no wonder Eric had been so insistent on me going. I-have-every-authority-take-you-from-Bon-Temps, my ass!

"Quickly, quickly!" Christian ushered me out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Once I straightened up, the first thing I noticed were the Coach displays and I wasn't the only one. A small crowd of teenage girls and middle-aged women gazed wistfully through the glass. There were at least a dozen handbags in all sorts of colors, neatly fixed onto snow white stands. Their buckles glittered under the spotlights: pretty, enticing, and desirable. No wonder the women wanted them so much.

"All right, my Southern Belle," I heard Christian's voice ring. "Let's get us some Coach!"


	4. House of Merovech and Bourbon

Christian and I didn't come back to Bon Temps until well past midnight. When John stopped the car in the driveway, we found Maxwell and—to my utter dismay—Bill waiting for us on the front porch.

"Where have you been?" Maxwell demanded once Christian stepped out holding a surplus of shopping bags in each hand.

"New Orleans, to get Sookie's clothes." Christian sprang up the steps.

"You didn't have to take her all the way down there for something like that!" Maxwell snapped, looking positively irritated. In his hands were several books, most of which looked too thick to be read in leisure. Several papers and Post-Its were stuffed in between the pages and scrawled with what could only have been Maxwell's handwriting.

"The only high-end designer stores in this state are in New Orleans. Where else was I suppose to take her?" Christian countered.

"Are you forgetting the schedule? _You _get her during the _day _while _I'm _supposed to have her at _night_!"

"So?"

"Look what time it is!" Maxwell yelled. "It's damn near one in the morning!"

"Thanks." I murmured to John as I shut the door to the Mercedes Benz. After waving his offers to help me carry my bags, I hobbled across the driveway, doing my best to ignore the ensuing argument between Maxwell and Christian. I tried to walk faster, hoping to get into the house without Bill saying a word to me.

"Here, let me get that."

Too late. In the blink of an eye, Bill was already standing next to me and had taken a good portion of my load from my hands.

"Give them back please."

"Sookie, you look tired." His voice was tinged with concern.

"I'm perfectly well, thank you. Now if you can hand over my clothes, that'd be great."

Bill, naturally, refused and proceeded to walk ahead of me with the bags in tow. Fuming, I followed him but when I got out the key and unlocked my door, I motioned for Christian to get inside.

"I guess you're here for me, right?" I dully asked Maxwell. "Come on in."

"Thank you, Ms. Stackhouse." said Maxwell as he crossed the threshold with his books in hand. Once he slipped away, Bill and I were left alone.

How strange it was to be left in a position that we hadn't been in for weeks, for months. We stood on the porch, not knowing where to begin or even how to act towards each other. Bill kept a respectful distance of about 15 feet and was avoiding my gaze.

In spite of myself, I had to take a look.

His hair was cut differently but his face was still recognizable, and sadly, I realized, it would _always _be familiar. Always. That straight nose, the lines of hardship etched into his ivory skin, and those expressive eyes that could say so much in one glance. I truly wished at that moment that he wasn't so beautiful. If he were ugly or dumb as a stump, it would've been easy for me to forget. To hate.

"You can leave them on the porch." I nodded toward the shopping bags.

"How are you doing?" Bill tentatively asked in an attempt to dispel the awkwardness.

"Fine and dandy." My voice was brittle. "I'm sure Eric's filled you in on everything."

"He has." Bill confirmed as he lowered my clothes near the door. "I also told him my concerns."

"Nice of you to look out for me." I tartly noted.

Bill's lips thinned into a tight line. This was hard for him, I could see that. My replies weren't doing him much good but he didn't dare try to tell me to talk differently. He had no right to do that and we both knew he deserved to hear every harsh word that existed in the English language.

"Sookie, you _cannot_ go." His eyes leveled with mine. "Taking you across the country was one thing but traveling to Europe is an entirely different matter. Eric is putting you in serious danger."

"So did you." I lowered my voice to keep my temper in check. "Whether I'm with you or Eric, I'll always be at risk and it aint nothing new." I bent down to retrieve my newly bought clothes when I felt a hand, waxy cool to the touch, curve against my shoulder. The contact sent a terrible wave of nausea through me.

I stood up abruptly. "Don't you touch me."

"I'm sorry." Bill stepped back. He didn't come near me again but lingered on the porch.

"You're going then?" He asked me after some time passed.

I refused to look at him. "From the way Eric talked to me, he made it sound like I didn't have a choice."

"You do." was Bill's reply.

I thought back to the moment Dr. Bloomsbury told me about the melanoma. Bile rose in my mouth but I swallowed it back and forced myself to stay calm. No, I really didn't have a choice. If I did, I wouldn't have been standing alone in front of my house with my ex-boyfriend. Nor would I be harassed by Eric into going overseas or having to think about my eventual funeral.

When I looked up, I caught Bill's gaze. You know that cliché phrase '_he looked right into my soul'? _That was exactly what I felt at that moment. His eyes calculatingly roved over my face as though he were searching for an answer to an unspoken question, a question he didn't want to ask.

"Sookie."

"Good night." I entered the house and closed the door as fast as I could. I stood there, my back pressed against the glass panel and lace curtain. I waited, counting my breaths as I did and soon enough, my patience was rewarded.

When I peeked outside, Bill was gone.

Now when you've had an exhausting day, you want to return home, plop on the couch, and bask in the quiet stillness of your house. Unfortunately I wasn't given that luxury because the minute I walked in, chaos erupted.

"—don't give a damn about your stupid haute couture!" I heard Maxwell go at it in the parlor.

"Well I guess that explains why you dress like a hobo." Christian acidly replied.

"I'm a professor at one of the nation's most prestigious universities." said Maxwell coldly. "The circles I attend could care less about my appearance."

"Is everything all right?" I spoke up.

"Sookie, can I stay here?" Christian immediately asked once I shut the door. When he saw my face, he pouted. "Aw, come on! I can't stand being with this prick at that creepy house." He glared at Maxwell.

"The feeling's mutual." Maxwell glowered.

I hesitated. The idea of Christian temporarily living under my roof didn't thrill me but there were several factors to consider. One: I understood Christian's unwillingness to sleep in a place with not one but two vamps. Two: if Christian stayed here, that was one less reason to stop by Bill's place.

"...Okay." I consented, much to Christian's delight. "You can take my room, the one next to the bathroom. I'll sleep in the master bedroom."

I walked into the parlor and sat myself on one of Gran's chaise lounges. Maxwell had placed his books and the binders I found this morning on the coffee table.

"Thanks Sookie!" Christian practically skipped as he went out the door to retrieve his things from Compton House. In show of his gratitude, just as he left, he blew a kiss in my direction.

Maxwell sighed, looking relieved when the door closed.

"I'm terribly sorry for my behavior, Ms. Stackhouse." He apologized as he seated himself next to me. "I consider myself a person with excellent self control but Mr. Badgley…" he shook his head "…seems to have a gift for driving people insane."

"I understand." I wryly smiled.

"So," Maxwell took off his cap and picked up one of the binders. He looked so normal then, just sitting there on the chaise lounge and casually reading through the material that I just had to ask in order to double-check.

"You're a vampire right?"

"Ah…yes." He smoothed the top of his jet black hair with his right hand, looking somewhat embarrassed though I didn't know why. "I'm not a very old one though. I was turned in 1965."

_Forty-two years since then, _I calculated in my head. "How do you know Eric, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, Mr. Northman? I'm actually not very well acquainted with him but I have rendered my services for Her Majesty, Queen Sophie-Anne in the past. She was the one who recommended me to him."

"You said you're a professor?" I remembered.

"Sociology and political science. But my specialty is the cultural and political workings of European vampire societies, which is why I'm here." Maxwell added. "When you go to France, you'll need to prepared and made aware of what kind of 'environment' you'll be entering."

"What exactly am I gonna be doing?"

Maxwell leaned forward and handed me one of the binders. "Learning who's who. It'll make it easier for you to know which mind to read and what role that person plays in Credit Suisse or any other institution they are affiliated with."

I sat up straighter. "Wait you know…?"

"Yes, Mr. Northman made Mr. Badgley and me aware of your ability." A slow smile spread across Maxwell's face. "He also told us that you are quite stubborn."

"I am." I agreed.

"But not to learning, I hope?"

"As long as you got manners." I flipped the binder open. "The only reason why I'm hard with Eric is because he's a jackass."

Maxwell looked amused.

"He really is." I said.

"Let's begin, shall we?" I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh. He glanced at the clock. "Unfortunately our lesson will have to be short but I'm sure it won't be a problem? You must be exhausted after today's trip."

"I _am_ pretty tired." I affirmed. "But I think I can last for an hour, maybe two."

"Perfect."

The binders, it turned out, were organized in two ways. One held the personal information of every major executive in Credit Suisse. The other was dedicated to French aristocrats, human and vampire, who were well known in Parisian society. Both sets of people, Maxwell explained, would be present at many of the events that I was going to infiltrate.

"I'm sure Mr. Northman told you about Feodore?" Maxwell asked as he flipped the pages.

"A little."

"What do you know about her so far?"

I paused. "She's a queen. A real one with some kind of family connection?"

"Yes." Maxwell nodded. "Her official title is Queen Mother but the European media refer her as the Merovingian Queen_, _in reference to her familial background. She is the daughter of Theuderic I, king of Rheims and subsequently the granddaughter of Clovis I."

"I'm sorry but who's Clovis?"

Unlike Christian, who would've scoffed and not taken the time to elaborate, Maxwell was very patient with me. "Clovis was king of the Franks, a Germanic tribe who ruled the area that is now known as France. He had four sons whom he split his empire with and Theuderic, Feodore's father, was one of those sons."

"So that makes her a princess."

"More or less, yes." Maxwell nodded. "The human historical record loses track of her after her marriage but in the vampire world, she is well known. Partly because she has an equally famous maker."

"Eric said he was a…'Caesar'?" I recalled.

"Yes he was." Maxwell replied, setting the binder down and reaching for one of his books. After a short perusal, he handed the book back and pointed out a specific page.

* * *

_Unknown_

_Psmatik III, Pharaoh of Lower and Upper Egypt (525 B.C.-1990 A.D.)_

_Titus Flavius Vespasianus, Emperor of Rome (81 A.D)_

_Theodechild of the Franks, Princess of Rheims (527 A.D) | Constantine Doukas of Byzantium, former Heir Presumptive (1095 A.D)| Richard of Shrewsbury, 1__st__ Duke of York (1490 A.D-1603 A.D.)_

_

* * *

  
_

Under Theodechild, a single line stemmed from her name and split into two persons: Louis-Charles de Bourbon and Marie Elisabeth Sainte-Claire, both made in the mid 1800's. I guess Constantine got around because beneath his name, there were _seven _vampires, all created in different time periods. One was even turned as recently as 1988.

"I guess they like to turn only royals huh?" I noted.

"Indeed." Maxwell agreed with me. "What you're seeing here is the vampiric bloodline Feodore is a part of and if you turn the page," he paused, "you'll find her human one."

"Wow." I pored over the sprawling family tree. "They sure bred like rabbits…_ten kids?_"

I was goggled over one particular name in bold that I had seen earlier: Louis-Charles. A double line linked him to Marie Elisabeth, who was a distant but definite descendant of Feodore. Below their names were a series of children, six girls and four boys. Some died as babies, others as teens, but a couple of them made it to adulthood and managed to squeeze out a couple more kids for the next generation.

"But he was turned." I pointed at Louis' name. "And so was his wife."

"Feodore made them into vampires when they were dying from diptheria." Maxwell elaborated. "She had to save them, seeing as how Louis-Charles was the only surviving male from the direct line of the Bourbons. I think it was more of a stratgetic move though....without Louis, Feodore's ties to the throne would've been considerably weaker. Marrying her descendant to him wasn't enough, for her, anyway."

"You mean Marie Elisabeth?"

But before Maxwell could reply, we heard the door open. "I'm heeeeeeeeeeeeeere!"

"Oh dear god." Maxwell groaned at the sound of Christian coming into the house.

"Thanks for letting me stay, Sookie!" I heard as he sauntered up the stairs, trailing his suitcases after him.

"So to add a face to the name." Maxwell replaced the book in my hands with one of the binders once he heard the door to Christian's room shut. "This is Feodore. It's a state portrait that was taken several months ago but it's the most recent photo I have of her."

I was surprised. Feodore was what Gran would've called a "classic beauty" but unlike most vampires of her position, who tended to be emotionless and unapproachable, she looked gentle. Even _kind. _She certainly played the part of a queen what with her crown and fancy white dress but her expression was serene, not haughty, and she was even smiling a little. It was hard to believe, let alone imagine, Sophie-Anne and Eric being intimidated by her.

"Feodore's a bit of a recluse these days." Maxwell's voice floated by my ear. "But she's still active in managing Credit Suisse and with her other business associates." He turned the page for me. "Now _this _is Louis-Charles or Louis XVII as he's known to the public."

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed. "He looks just like Andy!"

Maxwell was puzzled. "Who?"

"Andy Bellefleur." I giggled, marveling over the resemblance. "He's a cop here in Bon Temps. Goddamn, Louis could be his twin!"

"Don't address him that way if you meet him and his wife." Maxwell warned. "Unless they tell you otherwise, you must address them as '_votre majesté' _at all times."

I blinked. "Vo-tray what?"

"It's French for 'Your Majesty.' Louis XVII and Marie Elisabeth were recently acknowledged as the King and Queen of France—"

"Oh I _love_ her!"

Maxwell and I turned around to find Christian standing near the parlor entrance. In a matter of minutes, he had managed to strip down to his PJs and was unabashedly wearing a face masque.

"Sorry, couldn't help overhearing." Christian glided over and plopped right down on the sofa.

"Oh for heaven's sake, leave us alone." Maxwell scowled.

"Why?" Christian raised his caked brows. "I know Marie Elisabeth just as well as you do, probably better."

"Really?" Maxwell shut the genealogy book in a snap. "Then why don't you explain to Ms. Stackhouse then?" He challenged.

"Sure thing!" Christian clapped his hands. Turning to me, he declared, "Marie Elisabeth is _the _fashion icon of the millennium. It's like having Marie Antoinette back in 2007!"

Maxwell rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"She is _amazing. _Her taste and style are so dead on. She never, _ever _makes it on the Worst Dressed list. _Ever! _Do you know how much of a miracle that is? I heard she's super fun too."

"Really." I commented without much interest but Christian's mouth had already run away from him.

"Look, look, look!" He rapidly flipped through one of the binders then stopped at a photograph and eagerly tapped at a certain photograph.

My jaw dropped.

A woman with a perfect—too perfect—oval face and bright green eyes gazed at me with a kind of expression that you found on Playboy models. Silky platinum blond hair swirled down her bare back and stopped at her tiny waist, and lord was it tiny compared to her bosom. Until I saw Marie Elisabeth, I didn't think it was possible for somebody to simultaneously look like a freak of nature and a world-class supermodel.

"I know, she's _gorgeous_ isn't she?" Christian rhapsodized.

"You've got to be kidding me." I stared at the picture and glanced at another adjacent photograph of Marie Elisabeth puckering her lips à_ la _Marilyn Monroe. "She's _related_ to Feodore?"

I fleetingly thought of the elegant vampire whose portrait I'd seen just moments before. With her, it had been easy to see that she was royalty but Marie Elisabeth was like a goddamn porn star.

"She is," was Maxwell's dry input, "though I can assure you, Marie Elisabeth didn't look like that in the past." To demonstrate his point, he turned the page to reveal several paintings featuring her and Louis as they were in the 1800's. I compared a miniature of Marie Elisabeth as a fresh-faced brunette to the photograph of her as a done up blonde.

Well it didn't take a genius to figure out which version was better looking, in my opinion.

"As I was saying earlier," I heard Maxwell recommence, "Louis XVII and his wife were officially designated their titles in 2004 after hefty negotiations by Feodore and the French prime minister. The two agreed that the monarchs and their heirs would retain their royal _title _only but not _function_. The French Republic made it very clear that the Royal Family won't have any political say whatsoever."

"That doesn't make any sense. What's the point of being called a king or queen if you're not even going to act like one?" I argued.

"Yeah!" Christian seconded.

"Believe me Ms. Stackhouse," Maxwell sounded grave, "the French government doesn't want to resurrect the _Ancien Regime_. Feodore and her family may be popular but the French are still very much republicans at heart."

I lasted for about thirty more minutes before Maxwell and I called quits. After promising to come by house the next evening and reminding me to start memorizing the Credit Suisse binder, he left, leaving Christian and me to retire for bed.

"That was so boring!" Christian complained as he marched up the stairs.

"It wasn't bad." I shrugged. "I feel like I learned a lot about France and all."

"Whatever." He yawned. When he got to his bedroom, he stopped and turned to me, "By the way, don't forget to activate your Blackberry. What's-her-face…Pam…called me to remind you."

"Pam?"

"Yes indeed." Christian sighed as he retreated into his bedroom. "Good night my Southern Belle."

"G'night." I bid as he fell into bed. Left alone in the hall, I wearily made my way down the stairs again to retrieve the Blackberry. I had left in the kitchen that morning and I figured I would forget to activate it tomorrow. Better to configure the damn thing now then later.

Thanks to the easy directions on the box, I managed to set up the phone in just a few minutes and as soon as the screen lit, an envelope icon appeared.

_**12 New Messages**_

I paused at the screen. Who in tarnation would call me that many times in a day? Pressing a few buttons, I checked the call history only to find a single number: 203-575-4192

I selected _**Call**_ and waited by a couple rings until somebody finally picked up.

"_Fangtasia, Pam speaking_." A lazy voice drawled amid loud music playing in the background.

"Hi." I stiffly replied.

"_Why Sookie Stackhouse....it's been a while. E__njoy today's shopping trip?_"

"Do you know how many times you called this phone?" I asked, getting right to the point.

"_Sorry._" Pam responded, not sounding the least bit sorry at all. _"Eric wanted to talk you s'all." _

"This badly?" I glanced at the number of times Fangtasia had called.

"_Hold on a minute dollface._"

"No, no, don't put me through—"

"—_Eric._" A smooth voice broke in.

I paused.

"_I know you're there Sookie._"

I licked my lips and pressed them together before I spoke. "Pam said you needed to talk to me?"

_"How does my princess like her new clothes? I see she spent quite a lot today." _

"Don't call me that." I retorted. Then before he talk back, I jumped in, "What d'you want to talk to me about?"

"_Again with the attitude._" Eric coolly noted. _"I hope you'll be more cooperative when we're in Paris." _

"Yeah, speaking of that, Christian gave me some interesting information earlier today."

_"Such as_?"

"He said that pretending to be your _girlfriend _was 'part of my cover.'"

If I didn't know any better, I could've sworn that Eric was laughing to himself. "_Yes._" He confirmed._ "I'm sure he told you that you're required to attend several social functions and _I'm _your only access to those soirees._"

"I can get in by myself just fine." I said even though I perfectly knew well that wasn't possible. I just didn't like acknowledging I couldn't do something unless I had Eric's assistance. It'd mean I was weak, dependent on him when that was the last thing I wanted.

_"Don't get cocky._" He murmured. _"You're fascinating for a human, I'll give you that, but there's no way the Parisians will let a nameless little girl enter their hotspots without protest. You need me there, and so does Sophie-Anne._"

"I don't want to tell everybody I'm your girlfriend. You know how people would take it here? It'd be like saying I was dating Michael Jackson for Christ's sake."

_"Flattering, but I think we can agree that I have a better looking nose,_" was Eric's response, "_besides, I hate kids." _

"That's not an attractive trait, you know."

"_Be reasonable. A vampire and a mortal woman walking into a club as _friends _isn't a plausible scenario. It'll only look suspicious unless I claim you as mine. I can at least exclude you as fair game from other vampires if I do that." _

_"_I am _not _yours." I repeated slowly for Eric to get the message clear.

_"But all of Paris doesn't need to know that, do they?_" He parried. _"In any case, I want to let you know that I've bought the plane tickets. We're leaving on June 26 at Louis Armstrong International in New Orleans. Christian and Maxwell should be done with you before then." _

"For the last time, I aint going—"

_"Yes you are._" Eric cut me off. _"Admit it Sookie," _his voice softened, _"you _want _to go. You might kick and scream away but we both know it's only a front._"

"Excuse me!" I began, outraged.

"_If you didn't want to go, you wouldn't have put up with Christian and Maxwell today._ _You could've ripped the check and took Bill's _side_ on this matter but you did neither. Once you took that envelope from me, you gave your consent._"

I could not believe what I was hearing. "What are you talking about? You _left _the check with me!"

"_And you could've destroyed it but you didn't. I saw you pocket it._" He replied to my shock. _"You want to go. You can say what you want to your friends and to Bill but you can't hide it from me. I know you better." _

I opened my mouth to say he was wrong, that he didn't know me at all, but no words came out. Absolutely nothing, not even a damn curse.


End file.
